


siren

by belialsmeat



Category: The Lighthouse (2019)
Genre: M/M, Merpeople, Rough Kissing, general being rough with each other, they kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belialsmeat/pseuds/belialsmeat
Summary: "yer looks. yer too damn pretty to have good intentions."
Relationships: Thomas Wake/Ephraim Winslow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	siren

**Author's Note:**

> this movie is all consuming.

Ephraim couldn't remember much of anything outside of the fact that when he woke up, his head was wrapped in bandages and he was sitting in a tub full of water (one he was too big for, evidenced by his tail hanging over the side) in a mysterious house. He looked around the bathroom several times, trying to find some way to escape his confinement, even though he knew he wouldn't get far. He reached up to touch the bandaged spot on his head, wincing at the jolt of pain that came from a small tap. He stared at his fingers, which were lightly covered in blood. He huffed and sank down into the tub.

He stiffened, though, when he heard steps coming towards the bathroom. He sunk further down into the tub, until only from his eyes up was above the water.

In came an older man, with a scruffy beard. He hummed to himself, carrying some things under his arm. He set his things down as he took a seat on a small stool beside the tub.

"Yer finally awake."

Ephraim furrowed his brows and glared at the man.

"Come on now, boy, lemme change those wraps 'round yer head." The man held up a roll of gauze.

Ephraim rose the tiniest bit out of the water, then sank back down. 

"I'll pull ye up by yer damn hair if ye don't wanna cooperate."

Ephraim slowly sat up from the water, still glaring at the man.

"C'mere, lean over." 

Ephraim leaned a little closer. The man began to unwrap the old gauze, Ephraim shuddering at the feeling of the soaked material peeling off of his skin.

"This next part might hurt."

The man pressed a damp rag to his forehead. It _burned._ Ephraim jerked his head back with a yelp.

"Lad, if ye don't work with me, I'll throw ye back in the sea fer dead. Yer in no condition to survive on yer own."

Ephraim sighed and leaned forward, screwing his eyes shut as the rag was pressed to his forehead. 

As his head was cleaned, he finally spoke up.

"Why am I here?"

The man smiled. "Found ye out on the rocks, a big gapin' spot on yer head here. Thought ye dead, but ye were breathin', against all odds. So I scooped ye up and brought ye in." He patted Ephraim's forehead with the rag gently. "Ain't never seen a real mermaid 'fore. Heard tales, always wanted to." His smile widened. "And here ye are, dropped right into me lap."

Ephraim huffed out a ghost of a laugh.

"Ye got a name?" The old man asked.

"Mm. Ephraim."

"Thomas Wake." The man, Thomas, extended a hand. Ephraim took it, but Thomas stared at his hand, and the pointed claws at the tips of his fingers before giving a firm shake.

Thomas reached for the clean gauze, taking a strip and wrapping it around Ephraim's head. 

"There ye are, all cleaned up now." Thomas said as he stood up, patting the top of Ephraim's head. "I'll bring up some food fer ye soon." And with that, he was out the door, leaving Ephraim once again alone in the bathroom.

He sighed once more, sinking down into the water. He looked down at himself. Bruises and cuts littered his pale abdomen. He ran his finger over them, feeling the way the bruises ached and the dips of the cuts, dried blood flaking out into the water.

He tried his hardest to think back, but the most he could bring up from the depths of his mind was that there was a storm. He assumed the storm was what had knocked him into the rocks and busted his head.

Again, Thomas came into the room, holding a medium sized fish.

"Do ye, err….like it raw?" He chuckled.

Ephraim cracked a small smile, holding out his hands for Thomas to pass him the fish, which he sunk his claws into. He pulled it close to his face and opened his mouth, allowing Thomas a quick look at his sharp teeth before they dug into the flesh of the fish, tearing a chunk away. He tried to restrain himself from eating like some sort of uncivilized animal, but by God he was starved. He could feel Thomas's eyes burning into him, observing how he ate the fish. It felt as though he was taking a mental photograph of every flex of his jaw to chew, every glint of light off his teeth, every drip of oil and blood meeting water as the fish was pulled apart. He felt like a specimen.

When he was through, he turned to stare at Thomas, who merely held out his hand. Ephraim put the remains of his meal in his hand, noticing the way Thomas's fingers curled around it, and definitely noticing the prolonged brush of his fingertips against Ephraim's hand. 

They stared at each other for a moment, before Thomas merely gave him a crooked smile and left with the fish remains.

Ephraim heaved out a deep breath, his eyes falling closed. He was so, so tired. His muscles ached. His bones ached, too, all the way down to his marrow. He sank down once more, letting the lukewarm water envelop him as he drifted into sleep.

When Ephraim woke, he could hear Thomas's singing echoing through the house. He wasn't especially good at it, but it was still comforting to hear someone, in a way, to let him know he wasn't alone in the house. He found himself humming along with the off-key tune, tapping his claws on the rim of the tub. He stopped short as he heard Thomas approaching the bathroom.

"Good mornin', lad, I brought ye breakfast."

Breakfast consisted of a large bowl with some fish carcasses in it. Ephraim felt his stomach growl and his chest warm up. 

"Treatin' me like some kind of princess," he said, sitting up and reaching for the bowl.

"Aye, yer 'bout as pretty as one," Thomas laughed, and Ephraim's face heated up. He didn't know how to respond and before he could realize what he was doing he was taking swipes at Thomas's legs, catching on his pants and tearing the fabric, leaving shallow nicks in his shin. 

"Oi, what the fuck, lad?!" He shouted, stumbling backwards.

Ephraim stared at him dumbly. "Don't call me that. Don't say those things."

Thomas scoffed. "Boy can't take a little damn teasin'." He straightened himself up and turned away. "I'll come check on ye soon, when y've had time ta cool down." He stormed off.

Deep down, Ephraim felt terrible for his outburst. He felt guilt sitting in his gut like a rock, weighing him down. Were he in the ocean, he would have sunk down, all the way to the bottom. Was Thomas only meaning to tease, and could Ephraim really not take it? Or was it the fact that it sounded genuine that scared Ephraim into a corner? He pondered as he chewed through a fish.

Ephraim had at some point, fallen asleep after eating. He awoke, propped on his side, to the sound of a muttered song behind him. He turned over, and the sloshing of the water in the tub alerted Thomas, who had been sitting with his back to Ephraim. He turned to face him.

"G'mornin', sunshine."

"Mornin'," Ephraim slurred, resting his chin on the side of the tub. "Why'd you stop singing for?"

"Startled me's all," and with that, Thomas picked up his singing, a little louder. A smile crossed his face as Ephraim joined in, the two of them matched in their tone-deafness, and Ephraim began to smile, too. A big, toothy grin, showing off his fangs. They sang louder and louder, worse and worse, until they both dissolved into hearty laughter, deep from their chests.

Ephraim couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed that hard, as he curled in on himself, tears rolling down his cheeks, his face beginning to hurt from smiling so big. 

As their laughter died down, they went back to Ephraim sitting in silence and Thomas humming a tune. Ephraim sat once again with his chin propped on the edge of the tub, one arm draped over it as well.

Thomas scooted a little closer, and slowly took Ephraim's hand, examining closely the claws on his fingers and turning it over, before holding it upright and pressing his palm to Ephraim's. Ephraim's hand was a bit bigger, his claws making his fingers seem even longer against Thomas's. Hands pressed together, they sat, until one of them (it was unclear to either of them who initiated- but frankly, did they really care?) laced their fingers together. Ephraim's eyes drifted to their hands, then up to meet Thomas's eyes, which were already trained on him. Ephraim blinked slowly and suddenly Thomas was even closer to him. In response, Ephraim leaned forward as well. They both carried on, Thomas inching closer, then Ephraim. Thomas, Ephraim, until they were damn near pressing their noses together.

And Thomas was the one that closed the distance between them, Ephraim was sure of it. Almost.

Regardless of who erased the final inch, their chapped, dry lips were pressed together. Thomas leaned further forward, pushing Ephraim to lean until his back was pressed against the tub, with Thomas leaning over him. Thomas finally, after what seemed like a thousand years, broke the kiss, staring down at Ephraim hard.

Ephraim's heart was pounding out of his chest as he grabbed a hold of Thomas's shirt with his free hand and pulled him back in for another kiss. Ephraim's kisses were harder than Thomas's, his teeth threatening to nick both of their lips (they succeeded, splitting Thomas's bottom lip a bit). When he couldn't take it anymore, when his heart was threatening to leap into his throat and gag him, he damn near shoved Thomas away, his breathing labored.

"Lad-" 

"Shut up, you old fuck," Ephraim hissed, jerking him forward again and crashing their lips together once more. They mouthed at one another hungrily, though they didn't dare slip any tongue for fear of Ephraim's teeth. Ephraim began to sink down into the water of the tub, pulling Thomas's head with him down into the water, the older man smacking at him in an attempt to get Ephraim to let him go. Ephraim finally gave in, relinquishing his hold on Thomas's shirt. Thomas tossed his head back with a gasp, water streaming down his face, dripping from his beard. They stared at each other through the water for a while, before Thomas finally spoke up.

"A fuckin' siren, ain't ye?"

Ephraim laughed as he rose from the water. "What makes you think that?"

"Yer looks. Yer too damn pretty to have good intentions." He grumbled, standing up and looking frazzled. "Yer tryin' ta kill me after I took ye in."

Ephraim grinned his sharp toothed grin, then tossed his head back and laughed even harder. "A siren, really, old man? You think I'm pretty, that why you kissed me?"

Thomas stared at him, at a loss for words. He looked around, clenching his jaw, then shouted and kicked the tub, sloshing the water and rattling Ephraim around.

"I'll show ye a goddamn kiss. That weren't shit, laddie."

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS SO OOC AND BAD BUT A


End file.
